


The (Mis)Adventures of Nikandros and Laurent

by augusteofarles



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nikandros needs a break, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spelling mistakes AHOY, Warnings May Change, get ready for some shenanigans, honestly idk what this is, unexpected heart to heart by fireside
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augusteofarles/pseuds/augusteofarles
Summary: “Besides,” Damen said, cupping his cheek lightly, “You won’t be alone. Nikandros will be by your side.”And there lay the true reason for this trip. It was important to Damen, Laurent knew, for the two of them to get along.The issue was not that they did not get along. On the contrary, Laurent respected Nikandros more than he did most men, and he was quite certain that Nikandros did not, altogether, hate him. It was only that...they were different men. And different men often disagreed when coexisting in the same space. Or squabbled like old maids, as Damen often liked to refer to it.orNik and Laurent take a trip and everything goes wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

“It will only be a few days,” Damen said, adjusting his chiton. It was the one with the gold markings, Laurent’s favorite and Laurent would attribute his inability to stay cross with him to how good he looked in it. Two years into their lives together and Laurent still found himself breathless in his presence. The sun was high in the sky, surly prepared to remind Laurent that he was not born for it and that his flayed skin would soon be the price, but its rays were enveloping Damen in a golden halo, and Laurent thought that he could forgive the sun too.

“Surely he will feel insulted by your absence,” Laurent tried.

“Marlon has known me since I was born,” he said, taking Laurent’s hands into his. “He was a close friend of my father’s since they were boys themselves. He will understand and be honored by your presence.”

“If he was a friend of your father’s, I highly doubt his excitement at seeing me.”

“He was in favor of the unification from the start,” Damen said. There was an extra tenderness in his touch when he coaxed Laurent’s chin up. The sun was in his eyes too, Laurent thought, but perhaps it was Damen that was  radiating sunshine on his own. It was what Laurent often thought of every time he saw Damen. The sun.

 

If someone were to suggest to him, a few years ago, that he would turn into a lovesick fool just by looking into a man’s eyes, Laurent would have laughed. But he couldn’t think when looking Damen in the eyes, and perhaps Damen had caught on to his little secret. How very cruel.

“Do you think I would let you go alone had I any doubt in the man?” Damen said, closing the small distance between them until their lips were meeting and Laurent felt the last of his anger dissipate. _It’s the damn chiton,_ he thought when they finally broke away, breathless.

“Besides,” Damen said, cupping his cheek lightly, “You won’t be alone. Nikandros will be by your side.”

And there lay the true reason for this trip. It was important to Damen, Laurent knew, for the two of them to get along.

The issue was not that they did not get along. On the contrary, Laurent respected Nikandros more than he did most men, and he was quite certain that Nikandros did not, altogether, hate him. It was only that...they were different men. And different men often disagreed when coexisting in the same space. Or _squabbled like old maids,_ as Damen often liked to refer to it.

The past months had found them in different parts of Akielos and Vere, visiting noble families and Kyroi. Days and nights were spent on diplomacy and politics, some messier than others, all for the sole purpose of their joint cause. Peace. 

Despite their efforts, the move to Delfour had not been smooth, and a war torn land did not find peace overnight. The capital needed a steady rule, and the presence of a king and so Damen had volunteered to stay and see to matters at home. 

Marlon and his family were an important asset, nonetheless, and Laurent knew the necessity of powerful allies, so when Damen had suggested that _perhaps Nikandros can accompany you,_ Laurent had not altogether scoffed. He would have preferred to stay in Damen’s stead and he go in Laurent’s but Damen had seen the chance to force the two men he cared for into companionship and had taken it.

“Yes, I’m certain he is excitedly preparing as we speak.”

“Laurent,” Damen said, seemingly catching on to Laurent’s mood. “Don’t be cruel.”

“When have I ever been cruel?” he said, with an exaggerated outrage just to see the look on Damen’s face. “Nik and I always have fun.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. He did quite enjoy Nikandros’ company, but he also enjoyed riling him up and how easy it was to do so.

“I promise, I shall be on my best behavior.”

“That will be the day,” Damen said but he was smiling too, his dimple emphasized, and perhaps Laurent was not the only lovesick fool.

The laurel wreath was lying crooked on his head. It happened every time, his wild curls coupled with the carefree way he put it on, so that it did not lay properly in place. Laurent fixed it for him and felt the warmth in his heart grow. Surely it was unnatural, how happy he found himself at such simple things. Absurdly, he thought he will have lived a life fulfilled if he got to wake up every morning and fix the crown on Damen’s head.

“I’ll miss you,” he said in an embrace, because it was true, and he had promised Damen all of his truth.

  
***

 

Nikandros was not a religious man. Nor was he one for superstition or believed in fate. But when Damen informed him that he would be making a days long journey across Akielos with King Laurent de Vere, he wondered if the gods or fate had had a hand in it. _You reap what you sow_ his mother had often told him growing up. Perhaps Nikandros had been too strict with his men as of late. Perhaps he had been lacking in his duties, or been unkind to the poor. Surely, there was a reason for the punishment he was receiving.

The issue was not that Nikandros disliked Laurent, or his company. Since the day he had met him, Nikandros’ feelings for him had shifted from suspicion, dislike, hate, suspicion once more, and a begrudging amount of respect for the man. Laurent was a good King, and if Nikandros was honest with himself, a good man. He had surely proved his devotion to Damen over the years, and that had been enough for Nikandros.

But the prospect of spending days with him, without the presence of Damen was...worrisome? Nikandros was not sure. All he knew, as he saddled his horse for the journey, was that they had not been alone together, aside from the brief days of wrestling, which had been strange and surprising, as, Nikandros found, most things with Laurent were.

“We should stop and set camp soon,” Nikandros said as the sun was setting in the sky. They had been on the road since sunrise and the even roads of Delpha had given way to rugged ground and unkept woods. He had traveled these woods more than he could recall, mostly with Damianos. The possibility of getting lost was near to impossible, with the memory of the place etched into his mind, but it was unwise to travel in the dark, nonetheless.

Laurent, nodding without question, dismounted and the rest of the party followed suit.

The men got to work setting up the tents with Jord giving them each a task. Laurent had insisted on no grand royal tents to be brought along, settling for a simpler one, and so the preparations would not take too long. For all of his royal mannerisms and kingly presence, Nikandros had found that Laurent was a simple man. It was a stark contrast to everything Veretian. Or perhaps it was a stark contrast to what Nikandros had thought to be Veretian.

In the beginning, It had been a struggle to keep the peace between the Veretian and Akielon guard. It was not an easy task to look at the man, whom you thought your enemy a fortnight ago, and see a fellow soldier and brother in arms. Judging from how close he was standing to Lazar, Pallas had had no such hesitancies.

They were huddled together by the logs that had been freshly collected, seemingly trying to start the fire. If the task was left to them, they’d likely freeze to death over the night. Lazar was whispering something into Pallas’ ear, and, judging from the blush that formed on Pallas' cheeks, it was not something meant to be said in front of royalty.

Not that that would stop Lazar.

  
Nikandros considered the merits of bringing them both along. They would likely be too busy guarding one another to guard anyone else. Laurent, seeming to have noticed the same said, “Perhaps we should have left one of them behind.”

“I can have them sleep in separate tents if you would like.”

“Who am I to stand in the way of love?” Laurent said. His tone was light, so in contrast with the strange nervousness that Nikandros was feeling.

“Speaking of love, how fares lady Nikaia?”

“I would not know, your majesty,” Nikandros said trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Nikaia had been a delight, but a temporary one.

“Oh?” Laurent said, languidly removing his riding gloves. Damen had gifted them to him on his twenty second name day along with a plethora of other gifts. “Damen and I were convinced we would be preparing for a wedding soon. He will be disappointed to hear it.”

“I doubt the king is worried for my love life,” Nikandros said with a laugh. “Only one of the kings.”

“Well, I do care dearly for the well-being of my subjects.” Laurent said. “Worry not. I’m sure you will soon be hounded by nobles trying to marry off their daughters to you.”

“Or sons?” He said, after some thought. “Perhaps that has been the problem all along. You have been too focused on breasts, my dear Nikandros.” He said it in a way as though they were discussing taxes, and not Nikandros’ preferences.

It was going to be a long trip.

 

The night was pitch black by the time they finished setting up camp, with the moon and the stars the only source of light remaining in the sky. After a few stern words from Nikandros, Lazar had stopped nuzzling his face into Pallas’ neck and the fire was finally started. Nikandros had found himself helping with the preparations, though it was beneath his rank to do so, mostly to keep himself busy. He wasn’t sure where the uneasiness at the pit of his stomach rose from, yet there it was.

“I hope this Marlon has good Griva,” Lazar was saying in his broken Akielon, putting too much emphasis on the _G_ in Griva. “And _tagenines.”_

“ _Tagenites,”_ Palas corrected with a bout of laughter.

“Whatever the fuck it is,” Lazar said, taking a large chug from his wine, “I plan on having lots of it.” He said the rest in Veretian, seemingly done for the day with the complexities of a foreign language. It was always amusing, seeing the two of them work through their language barriers, though Nikandros doubted they did a lot of talking to begin with.

“I doubt that’s the only thing you’ll be having,” Laurent said shooting a look in Pallas’ way and joining them by the fire.

There was a moment of silence and then the fireside was filled with laughter. Lazar raised his mug to Laurent and took a large swig, Pallas keeping his reaction subdued, not yet completely accustomed to hearing such things from a King.

 

The thought of visiting Marlon’s estate, with its vast gardens and soft beds was enough to brighten Nikandros’ mood.

The last time he had seen Marlon and his family was five summers ago, when he had made the journey with Damen and King Theomedes. They had drank into the late hours of the night and toasted the victory at Marlas.

Now looking at Laurent sat beside him, Nikandros thought it may as well have been another life.

Perhaps it was the strangeness of accompanying a Veretian King to the same place he had toasted his country’s defeat not too long ago, that set Nikandros on edge.

Laurent, on his part, looked completely unbothered, if not terribly bored through most of the journey. But then, Nikandros thought, Laurent always looked unbothered by the world around him.

At times, Nikandros felt, there seemed to be two of him. The proud and often cold king that could stare a man into submission and the one who he found smiling at Damen when he thought no one was looking, who quietly pet his horse every time he dismounted and who made crude jokes with his soldiers.

 

“What sort of man is Marlon?” He asked at one point.

“He’s a man of honor,” Nikandros said with certainty. “He and his family have been a friend of the crown for generations.”

Laurent took a bite of the meat that one of the soldiers had roasted over the fire, but otherwise stayed quiet. Nikandros, taking it as a sign that he wanted to know more, added, “Damianos and I often visited his estate as boys. He is a kind man, and has been famously supportive of the unification.”

Marlon’s support had in fact had an incredible influence on the rest of the Kyroi who were otherwise apprehensive of giving their support to Damianos, let alone a Veretian King.

“We have him to thank for the support of some of the more... _traditional_ kyroi.” Nikandros clarified.

“Hm,” Laurent mused, looking into the fire. The rest of the men were either at their posts or deep into conversation. It seemed the brief air of formality that had fallen around the fire with Laurent’s arrival had disappeared a little more with each glass of wine. Or perhaps it was just a result of Laurent’s charm.

“What of his family?”

“His wife, Lady Aelia, is a daughter of the Patran family of Elvorix.” Nikandros said. “They are a noble-“

“Yes I’ve heard of them,” Laurent said.

“He has a daughter from his first marriage, Lady Lyra.” Nikandros said. She had been absent on his last visit and so he had not seen her for many years. Nikandros recalled the green of her eyes with an elation that he had not felt since he was sixteen. He remembered how Damen, with a confidence that only came with being born a crown prince had introduced them. How he, all smiles and excitement for the simple fact that Nikandros admired her and with an innocent and passionate desire to help his friend woo a girl, had praised him in front of her to high heavens. He had even helped him gather flowers from the gardens. Nikandros wondered how she fared now.

“I gather you are quite acquainted with this Lady Lyra,” he heard Laurent say, rousing him of his reminiscence.

“And a younger daughter, Antehe,” Nikandros continued, choosing to ignore the implication. Laurent smiled in the knowing way that he often did which meant _it’s unlikely I will be forgetting this._

 

Nikandros downed the rest of his wine.

 

It was later in the night, when Nikandros walked into Laurent’s tent with the intention of seeing if there was anything that was required of him before retiring himself, and found it empty.

Laurent had a strange habit, Nikandros had noticed through their previous trips and various occasions at home of, frankly put, disappearing into the night. Occasionally, he would be accompanied by Damen. Often times, however, he would take walks in complete solitude.

Nikandros felt the uneasiness he had been feeling, replaced by irritation, as he inspected the surrounding near the camp. It was foolish for any man to wander alone in the woods, let alone a King. He wished, for the hundredth time that night, that Damen was present. Perhaps the invisible rope that they evidently seemed to have attached to one another would help Damen simply _sense_ where Laurent was, and Nikandros would be free to go to sleep.

On their departure Damen had looked like a forlorn puppy. One would have thought he had been seeing Laurent off to war and not to a neighboring estate, with the way he had been holding onto his hands with a miserable look in his eyes. For a brief moment, it had even seemed like he had changed his mind all together and had asked Laurent to stay. Whatever it was that Laurent had said to him, had eased his worries.  

And now Nikandros was tasked with playing hide and seek into the late hours of the night.

It was when he had gotten a large distance away from the camp and felt the last of his patience wearing out that he felt a pull at his sleeve.

Bandits and thieves were not unheard of in these parts of the land. Nikandros’ reactions were quick, reaching one hand to his sword and with the other grabbing at whatever it was that had reached for him. He raised his sword to go in for the strike only to be met with ice blue eyes.

He was half hidden out of view behind a tree bark where the ground was steeper, his pale hair illuminated by the moonlight. An image of Damen beheading him for regicide flashed before Nikandros’ eyes before he let go of Laurent’s wrist and resheathed his sword.

“What are you-”

“Hush,” he said, “Get down.”

Nikandros was prepared to argue, when he heard what it was that Laurent was hiding from.

There seemed to be ten of them, if not more, not too far from their hiding spot, merchants by the look of it, with two large wagons nearby. Except that, Nikandros thought with a sinking feeling, merchants did not carry so many weapons, nor did they look like hardened soldiers.

“Maybe some ale will calm them down,” one of them was saying, and it was with the last piece of the puzzle fitting into place, that Nikandros understood what was really happening. The man with a scar across his arm, large enough for Nikandros to see at such a distance, placed a plate of what looked like scrapes of food into the small opening of one of the wagons.

“I don’t suppose they’re carrying cloth,” Laurent whispered, as a shaky hand reached for the food from inside the wagon.

“We must alert the men,” Nikandros said, rising from where they were crouched to head back the way he had come. It was a brief moment before he noticed that Laurnet had remained motionless.

“They’re not camping for the night,” Laurent said.

“We will go on their trail once we alert the men,” Nikandros said, but Laurent remained still.

“We’ll miss them,” he said, “we're too far from the camp, there’s not any time.” He seemed to think it through for a moment.

“How confident are you in your ability to find their trail, in comparison to a smuggler’s ability to hide?” He added. “We will lose them.”

“We cannot take them on alone,” Nikandros said. They were outnumbered, and though he had enough trust in his abilities and had seen Laurent in a fight over the years, they were no match for ten hardened criminals at once.

“Then go warn the men.” Laurent said, as though he had already made up his mind.

“You’re not going to follow them alone.” Nikandros could feel the pain in his temples growing.

“Is that an order?” Laurent said, rising from his spot, but staying out of view of the men.

“This is madness,” Nikandros said, already accepting his fate in the back of his mind.

“If we lose them,” Laurent said, with a quietness to his tone that Nikandros rarely heard, “They’ll be lost to us forever.”

He was right, Nikandros acknowledged begrudgingly. If they were to cross the border to Patras, there would be nothing left for them to do.

“I will follow them,” Nikandros said. “Go alert the men.”

“Another order,” Laurent hummed, a pale brow arching and smiled a crooked smile that was highly untimely in Nikandros’ personal opinion. “You know some would consider such behavior as treason.”

“If anything happens to you, treason will be the least of my worries. Damen will have my head on a spike.”

“Foolish of you to assume that you would survive while I perished.”

 

Perhaps it was a wise idea to let Laurent go alone after all. He would be killed by the smugglers _or a wild bear_ , Nikandros’ imagination provided, and Nikandros would die by the hand of his oldest friend. There were worse ways to go and in the end they’d both be free of one another.

 

 _You reap what you sow,_ his mother’s voice rang in his head.

 

Nikandros took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He was going to track a group of slave smugglers through deep Akielon woods in the middle of the night with Laurent de Vere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @augusteofarles


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author has no understanding of how geography works or how long it takes to travel in the woods.

On Nikandros’ seventh name day, his father had slung an arm around his shoulder in a rare display of affection and had informed him that a surprise awaited him, if he were to be on his best behavior. He had spent the remainder of the day waiting patiently, the excitement vibrating within him, had sat with a straight posture at the feast, as his mother always wanted, had not interrupted his tutors during lessons, and had done his training properly, lest his father change his mind as a lesson, as he tended to do so often.

When, at the end of the night, his father had shown him the giant map of Akielos that he had had prepared just for him, Nikandros had been ecstatic, less for the map itself and more for the prospect of spending time with his father.

_ It is essential to know the land that you live in,  _ his father had said,  _ and you shall learn.  _ For the rest of that month, after he had finished his many duties, his father would sit by Nikandros under candlelight, into the late hours of the night teaching him all there was to know of Akielos and its surrounding lands. 

To the west, the roads were rugged and unkept, its people mostly sailors, rough and weary. To the north-east there was Aegina.  _ Where uncle lives _ . To the south, there was the Kingsmeet, that he would join when he was of age, or so father had said so ever since he could remember. Further down, there was Ios, where King Theomedes ruled.  _ Where Damen lives!  _ Nikandros had chimed, partly in pride for knowing the answer and partly because, even though he had met him once, he had made fond memories with Damen already.  _ Where Prince Damianos lives,  _ father had corrected sternly and Nikandros had not made the mistake again. 

_This here,_ his father had said pointing towards the far north, _Is Delpha._ _It was stolen by the Veretians, but it is Akielon. Do not forget. And one day,_ he had said, with an arm on Nikandros’ shoulder and a brightness in his eyes, _when we take it back, it will be so once more._

Nikandros wondered, as he sidestepped a giant fallen branch with aching feet, what his father would think of him now. He supposed they did gain Delpha back in some sense, though he doubted his father would be all too pleased with the unifying part of the deal, and the idea of Nikandros walking by Laurent, the son of the man he often referred to as  _ the serpent king, _ as an ally and a subject would surely send him to an early grave, were he still alive. 

“Has anyone told you you look like the statue of Polybius when you’re brooding?” Laurent said, not quite getting the pronunciation right. Nikandros remembered being present for the grand tour that Damen had given Laurent of the castle in Ios, half limping and not yet fully healed from Kastor’s betrayal. They had walked by the ancient statues in the long halls, Damen naming all of them, giving a few facts on each and Laurent, when they had walked by Polybius, the Sun Warrior, had said, _ this one looks as though someone has stepped on his foot. _

_ “ _ I don’t recall so." 

“Perhaps if you grow out your hair a bit more.” Laurent said. It had been so blissfully quiet a moment ago.

“Oh come now,” Laurent said with the sing song voice he used when he was trying to chide a reaction out of Nikandros. “This is not so bad. The sun is bright in the sky, the two of us together as Damen wanted.”

“Damen wanted us to chase bandits in the woods with two swords between us and no food?” Nikandros said. “Forgive me, I must have misunderstood him greatly.” He said it in the sarcastic tone that Laurent often used with him, and it got a laugh out of him now.

“Or water,” Laurent added. The little that they had had between them was almost all gone. 

“There is a stream not too far from here.” Nikandros said. “It is likely they are heading for it too. We will reach it soon.” 

“You know the area well,” Laurent said, less a question and more an observation. He did that often, expressing things that he had come to notice about the people around him. Over the years Nikandros had decided that it was his own strange way of befriending a man. 

“I do,” he said. “I’ve traveled these paths many times, your majesty.”

“You always know your way around, when we travel.” Another fact and more silence, the crunch of the leaves and the singing of birds the only noise in the vast forest.

“It is essential to know the land one lives in.”  He wasn’t sure why he said it out loud, but it seemed to take Laurent by surprise. 

“My father used to say that,” Nikandros clarified.

Laurent nodded and said, “smart man.”

Nikandros almost laughed. He wondered what Laurent would think of his father were he to have met him, heard him speak of Veretians, though he doubted that Laurent’s own father would have had warm words about Akielons.

He wondered, then, if Laurent ever thought of his own father, of what he would think of Laurent now, as Nikandros did of his. It was a strange thought. 

“They seem to be taking their time,” Laurent said. “You would think they’d be in a bigger hurry.” He was wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Wearing Veretian clothing had not been a wise decision, though it was unlikely he had expected to be walking in the woods. He had lost his top vest already, and let loose some of the laces of his shirt, but Nikandros could tell he was not too pleased with the sun. “They must be terrible smugglers.”

“Let’s hope so,” Nikandros said. 

It had been a full day and a half and still they had not lost their trail, staying back far enough to be unseen but quick enough to not lose their tracks. It would be a cause to celebrate if Nikandros knew how exactly they were going to free the slaves- former slaves - from ten men and live to tell of it. Laurent, on his part, looked calm and self assured.  _ As he always does, _ Nikandros thought with mild irritation. 

“We should act when the sun sets,” Nikandros said and when Laurent didn’t answer he added, “we are getting too far from our camp,” and was answered by a silent nod that was more a simple acknowledgement that Laurent had heard him and less a sign of agreement.

“We have no supplies.” 

“No,” Laurent said, “ but they do.” 

Nikandros stopped. It didn’t take very long for Laurent to realize that he was walking alone. He sighed and turned. “We need more time to see what sort of men they are.” He said it in the way that one bats a fly away when it has bothered him long enough. 

“The sort that break the law,” Nikandros said, “the sort that smuggle humans.” 

Laurent had insisted, in the night, that they watch the men quietly from afar.  _ To judge the quality of their character,  _ he had said. Nikandros had thought it a wise decision, though he cared little of the quality of their character and more about what weapons they had and where they kept them. There seemed to be nine of them, and not ten, they had discovered, though it had brought little relief, and they did not seem to touch the slaves much, which had been a great relief.  _ They don’t want to spoil the goods that they sell _ , Laurent had said. 

“We will reach the border soon. We must act soon.”

“One more night,” Laurent said, and continued walking. Nikandros took it for the dismissal that it was, and followed. 

 

Later, when the sun had been giving it’s last rays and the smugglers had set up camp, Nikandros had chased an hare through the trees, not far from the river in a rather inelegant fashion, to Laurent’s great amusement, then spent a good portion of the remaining light skinning it even more inelegantly, also to Laurent’s great amusement. 

Nikandros was a good hunter, but with rabbits not falling into his preferred animals to seek, and the absence of a bow and arrow, it had proven to be a greater hassle than expected, matched only by the act of skinning it. It was not the sort of thing that was often expected of Nikandros, a job usually meant for someone of lower rank, which, on this occasion, happened to be Nikandros.

“We’ll need wood for a fire,” Laurent said and got off the tree stump he had been sitting on. 

“I will collect them,” Nikandros said, throwing the rabbit down. It was as clean as it was going to get. 

“Good,” Laurent said and kept walking. It was clear it wasn't woods he was after. 

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d wish our friends a pleasant night,” he said and when Nikandros meant to follow he raised a hand. 

“We don’t have much daylight left, start a fire. I’ll return soon.”

Nikandros opened his mouth to argue, but Laurent said, “start the fire,” and turned. 

Nikandros signed, sent Damen a few halfhearted curses that he would never truly voice and got to work. By the time he was finished, the sun had fully set and the fire was warming up the air that had turned cold in the night. Laurent had been gone too long and as Nikandros had meant to go looking, he saw him appear from the trees nearby. 

“Miss me?” he said, taking a seat by the fire.

“Terribly.”

“This is not half bad,” Laurent said, taking a bite of the meat that Nikandros had roasted. 

“How fare our friends?” 

“On their third bottle of rum,” Laurent said, “so I imagine quite well.” 

“One of them tried to take liberties with the slaves,” he said, voice lower. “Their leader seems to be the only one to have some wits to him.” 

Laurent was right. One look at the long bearded brute of a man, and it was clear he was in charge, drinking less than the other men and talking less too. 

“We’ll have to take care of the dimwits first,” Nikandros said, “if we are lucky they will drink themselves to sleep. Then we will only have to worry about him.”

“One smart man can be deadlier than ten brutes,” Laurent said, a knuckle on his chin. “A smart man in charge of ten brutes can ruin countries.” 

“Then we will have to take him out first,” Nikandros said. 

Laurent was looking into the fire in a sort of unfocused gaze, so that Nikandros was unsure if he had been heard. 

“Yes,” Laurent said after some time. He had eaten a small portion of the meat, Nikandros noticed, and had left the rest to him. He stood up, moving a few steps further from the fire, threw down his jacket on the ground and lay down, resting his head on it. 

“You will keep first watch?” he asked, though it was hardly a question. 

Nikandros was not certain how much time had passed, though at some point he had decided that he would not be able to sleep and so had not woken Laurent. His mind was racing with thoughts, of plans and angles to take, to come out of this on the winning side. They would need to keep as they had for another day, lest they be noticed, and attack at night. The ideal outcome would be to wait until they drank themselves to sleep, and disarm whoever was left on watch. 

It was when the sky was giving hints of light and when Nikandros had walked not too far from the fire to stretch his legs and take a piss when he felt the prickling sensation of being watched. 

Not soon enough. 

They were on him before Nikandros had time to process what had happened. Nikandros, having fought men far deadlier than these, acted quickly, and already two of them were down, Nikandros' sword warm with their blood. It was the three from the back that had taken him by surprise, shoving him on the ground and tying his hands behind his back. The rope in his mouth had been excessive, in Nikandros’ personal opinion, though he was the last man they would ask. 

As they dragged him to the campsite, Nikandros found himself praying to whatever Gods that his mother had prayed to, that Laurent had heard the commotion and had ran, had hidden. 

_ Divine Mother, eternal soul in the heavens, hear my prayer in my troubled hour.  _ Or was it the Hollowed Spirit that she prayed to? Whichever it had been, Nikandros thought as he saw Laurent’s sleeping form, they had failed him once more. 

Laurent woke easily, feigning his surprise frighteningly quickly. He sat up, in a ridiculously languorous fashion, as though a nagging servant had woken him for a late breakfast. 

“So much for keeping watch,” Laurent said, three swords at his throat.

 

_ Bandits dwell in the woods of Asaros, _ his father had said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a bit short and messy.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @augusteofarles


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